


Down And Out (don't drop without me)

by borrowedphrases



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, vaguely implied D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: You and your maknae, when the others leave.





	Down And Out (don't drop without me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneatatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fell for you (don't let me fall alone)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928282) by [oneatatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime). 



You know nothing will ever be the same again.

You try to smile just as bright as before, but your lips feel stretched thin enough to split open. Your teeth feel like shards of broken glass driven into your gums. It hurts to even open your eyes each day; it hurts even more to smile.

When you walk it feels like you'll never dance again. Your knees feel brittle and old, your muscles ache, your feet seem fat and squishy inside your mismatched socks and dirty shoes.

He brings you soup. He brings you coffee. He brings you tea. He keeps bringing you hot liquids until you feel like your tongue has been boiled, until your tastebuds have been seared right off. 

He doesn't say much, he never has. But you can see in his eyes his worry, his weariness, his patience that you're steadily whittling away at.

When you close your eyes, his fingers gliding through your unwashed hair, he's still the bright-eyed boy you debuted with. He's still centimeters shorter than you, still all gangly limbs, knobby awkward knees, and skinned elbows. 

He's still your dongsaeng. Still the maknae.

You hate yourself a little more each night after he leaves you. This isn't right. You're the hyung, the leader, if only just for him now. _You're_ supposed to be taking care of _him_. He needs you, you know he needs you.

You think he needs you.

(no one needs you)

You hear the front door open and close after he's left your room. You pretend to sleep. Sometimes you even do sleep, at least until he's home again.

Then you pretend again. Then you close your eyes and listen.

You listen as he staggers down the hallway, sometimes shuffling, sometimes limping. You listen as he showers, as he tries to wash away the scent and taste of other men from his skin. The grit and the grime from his knees. The cum from his lips and ass.

You listen as he cries.

The makeup noonas ask you, because you're the hyung, if he's okay. If he's sick, or not eating well, or if you've been fighting. They comment to you about his lips and his stagger and the shadows in and under his eyes.

That's when you start to watch, that's when you stop just listening, and you start to _see_.

He's not just taller, he's _greater_. His arms and legs still long, but muscled now, no longer graceless. His limbs move together, a synergy. Like poetry, like a song. His eyes are still wide, but there's wisdom there instead of wonder.

He's not a boy anymore. 

And he needs you _now_ more than he ever did before.

When the front door closes you rise from your bed. You change your sheets, switch your blankets, and shake out your pillows. You shower, twice. You use shampoo _and_ conditioner. You shave. You brush your teeth and you comb your hair.

You wait for him on the couch.

It's four in the morning when he stumbles through the door. He stops when he sees you, those doe-like eyes widening at you like you're high beams on a dark road when you stand and make your way over to him, socks falling gently against the cheap wood floor.

When you take him in your arms you make note of how new he is to hold now, how your arms rest on different curves and planes of his body than they used to. You ignore the scents of smoke and the sweat of other men coming from him, and focus on the sweet musky scent of manhood that's his alone.

When he starts to crumble against you, starts to cry, you realize you've been speaking to him. As the words catch up to your brain you know how right they are, how needed they are, for both of you. Something crumbles inside you, sloughs away like dead skin. There's something shining and new left behind.

It's no lighter to carry, but that's okay.

As you press your hands to his shoulder, as you push him down to his knees, you smile like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

But you can make something better together.


End file.
